


Dance Yrself Clean

by percussion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/percussion/pseuds/percussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two of them were meant to fill the same space, and it gets crowded. Harry wins until he doesn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance Yrself Clean

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the LCD Soundsystem song. Written because Liam and Harry never seem to smile at each other quite like the other boys do.

It’s always been this way. 

From the very beginning, they’ve been two boys with strong voices, strong faces, and they knew it would be a race to the top. And Harry won, because Harry always wins. 

Ever since the god damned X-factor, since the house and the tears and the horrible reality of living their adolescence in front of cameras. Since Liam announced that he and Danielle were officially dating and Harry squinted his eyes like he wasn’t quite sure Liam was serious. Since Liam started glancing back during shows to see Harry mocking his dancing, bouncing and cackling with Zayn. Since Harry got every first verse on the new album. Since Harry was officially pegged as One Direction’s frontman, started getting solo magazine spreads and cameos in other artists’ songs, and all Liam could think was _why. not. me._

“You’re wasting this,” Harry tells him one day, jabbing his finger into Liam’s chest over and over again. “You and your stupid plans. _Live_ a little, Liam.”

Liam feels ashamed even though he knows he shouldn’t, chastised even though he’s the older one, angry because he’s afraid Harry might be right.

It’s not like that with Louis. Louis does all of those things too, teasing and questioning and mocking. But he’s always quick to soothe afterwards. He’ll run a hand down Liam’s face or jump on his back or even look him straight in the eye for a split second to say _hey. I see you. You’re here._ He does the reverse with Harry, cuddles turning into smacks and whispers on stage escalating until they’re both squirming. Liam and Harry need Louis in peaks and valleys. They never line up.

When they finally sneak away to a club together after the last concert of the tour, all five of them for once, and Harry makes one last crack about needing to watch who he kisses while _Daddy Direction_ is in the building (always smirking, never sorry), Liam is so, so done.

Louis is the only one who’s of age in America, so he goes to the bar and returns with a tray of shots. Liam stares at them for a second, takes one when the rest of them do, rotates it in a circle on the table, ignores the Coke Louis has placed at his elbow. He raises it to his lips – Harry says, “Oh, Liam, that’s –“ and he downs it, letting the burn fill his chest.   
He slams that glass down on the table and plucks the next one straight from Harry’s hand, swallowing it just as quickly, chasing vodka with more vodka. When he sets the second glass down, the rest of the boys are staring at him. Niall looks vaguely approving. Zayn has his own drink halfway to his mouth, eyes wide. Louis is on the verge of saying something, but he keeps inhaling and stopping, inhaling and stopping, his eyebrows scrunching with each breath. 

Liam doesn’t bother to glance at Harry’s face. He grabs two more shots as he heads to the dance floor. 

The alcohol hits him quickly, just like he expected it to, and soon the club is a swirl of lights and bodies and he doesn’t _care_ , doesn’t panic or stress, and he wonders if this is what it’s like to be Harry Styles every fucking day. He ends up grinding with a girl inadvertently, the room being so packed, but she’s pretty– dark hair, short dress, soft hands. He’s done this a million different times with Danielle, letting her lead the way because it’s her damn job, for god’s sake, but this girl isn’t a professional, and Liam can tell. He digs his fingers into her hips and pulls her closer. He can feel her breasts against his chest and she starts to mouth at his neck as they move. They fade into each other, hips and ass and hands and lips, and Liam is exactly where he wants to be until someone grabs his shoulder roughly. 

It’s Harry, and his eyes are narrow, and he’s shouting, but Liam can’t understand anything with the music so loud and his head so light, so he just shoves Harry away carelessly and fits himself back into the slow, dirty spaces between the heavy bass and the crazy lights and the bodies around him. But Harry hasn’t left, and he’s yanking Liam away from the girl without apologizing, getting right up in Liam’s ear and yelling again. This time he can kind of make it out, _what are you doing_ and _Danielle_ and _how drunk are you, Liam, jesus._

Liam punches him without hesitation.

The next few seconds are a blur – suddenly Louis is there, gripping Liam’s shirt collar and dragging him toward the door while Zayn is helping Harry up. But Liam’s dying to land one more blow, to scream _isn’t this what you wanted?_ over and over again in Harry’s face. He lunges with no warning and he feels his shirt rip but Niall appears out of nowhere and deflects the hit easily. They stagger into the night air and wave down two taxis. Zayn and Harry leave in the first one, and under the streetlights Liam can see the blood that’s dripped from Harry’s nose onto his white t-shirt. 

Louis still doesn’t let go of his shirt collar, and Niall is swearing under his breath, but Liam is grinning as they pile into the second taxi.

He _won_ tonight, for fuck’s sake.


End file.
